This morning I went shopping at the Richfield Target, arriving early, imagining it wouldn’t be busy yet. Wrong. My primary mission was dog food, but the list expanded to include a bag of whole wheat flour. The flour section of the baking aisle contained a few bags of white flour. Period. An employee finished confirming with a customer that no yeast was available. I asked him about whole wheat flour. The response was a negative shake of his head. The poor man had to be weary from answering the same questions over and over while trying to keep the shelves stocked.
A woman and her adult daughter shared the aisle. In their cart lay two bags of white flour.
The woman spoke. “Excuse me. I know this’ll sound strange, but we just bought a bag of whole wheat flour at Cub because that’s all they had. It’s out in the car and you’re welcome to it.”
Those who know me will be surprised, but I found myself momentarily speechless.
Finally I said, “No, that’s okay, really, you’re so sweet.”
“Well, it’s up to you.”
Then I began to appreciate the kindness of the offer and the importance of accepting.
“Where are you parked?” I asked.
“We’re in the handicapped area. A black KIA SUV. We can watch for each other at the check out.”
After going through the self-check, I looked around for the woman and her daughter. Maybe they already left, I thought, and headed out of the store, but parked in a handicapped spot was the black SUV. After putting my groceries in the car, I circled around and parked nearby. In the meantime, I prepared something for the duo.
Five minutes later, the mother and daughter approached their vehicle and I jumped out of my car and gave them a friendly wave.
“Hi, I saw your vehicle and waited a bit,” I said, pulling a card from my pocket.
The woman thought I was offering money, “No need to pay,” she said.
“Actually, I’m a writer and want to share the story of your kindness. This card has the web address of my blog. Check it out later today.”
As the daughter rummaged through the back of the SUV looking for the flour, the woman accepted the card. She reached her mittened hand toward my gloved hand and we shook.
“My name is Robin,” she said.
The daughter handed me a 5-pound bag of whole wheat flour and we parted ways.